


It's So Not Fair

by carolej126



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolej126/pseuds/carolej126
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally published in Route 666 4 (Ashton Press, 2011)</p>
<p>Dean's down with the chicken pox.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's So Not Fair

“Chicken pox.” The two words broke the silence that had filled the small hotel room for the past hour. Sam shook his head in disbelief. “I should have seen it before.”

Half asleep, Dean shifted his position on the tiny – at least for a man his size - twin bed, blinked several times and swung blurry eyes in Sam’s direction, mumbling, “Huh?” 

“Chicken pox,” Sam repeated, leaning slightly forward in his chair to squint at the screen. He read the information again, and then tapped a few keys on the computer keyboard. He had already checked two different sites, and this one was no different. Dean was not going to be happy.

“Thought you were doing research on our next gig?” Dean asked in confusion. “Poltergeists, restless spirits, things that go boo in the night, remember?” 

“I was.” Sam turned to face Dean, gesturing toward the handwritten notes next to the laptop. “But I don’t think we’re going to find anything else, until we actually get to town.”

“So, what’re you talking about? Who’s got chicken pox?”

Sam shifted his attention back to the computer screen. “Fever, headache, sore throat, rash,” he ticked off one at a time. “Sound familiar? Just like those two kids at that motel a couple weeks ago. That’s what they had. And, so do you.”

Dean immediately rejected the information, despite the familiarity of the symptoms. “Can’t have the pox, dude, had ‘em.” He scrunched up his nose in thought. “Back when I was, I don’t know, three or four. It was before you were born. ”

“You remember that?” Sam asked curiously. He could remember a few details from his earliest elementary school years, but three or four was awfully young. Still, if anyone could remember, it would be Dean. 

“Not really,” Dean admitted. “But I remember Dad filling out forms for school, and they said I’d had chicken pox. So, been there, done that.” 

“According to this you can get them again,” Sam reported regretfully. He kicked off his shoes, absentmindedly rubbing the bottom of one sock-clad foot with his toes. 

“No way,” Dean argued. “Chicken pox is a one time only engagement. Check it again.”

“Dean, it says it right here. I don’t think it’s going to change even if I do read it again.” Sam paused, studying the details. “It’ll take about ten days to clear up completely.” 

Dean stared at Sam in dismay for a long moment before pulling a blanket up over his face. “So not fair,” he moaned.

Sam leaned back in his chair, effortlessly sliding his sneakers back on. “It’s not that big of a deal, Dean. We’ll just take a few days off until you’re feeling better.”

“Supposed to be in Grand Rapids by Friday,” Dean reminded him, his voice muffled. “Got a job to do.”

“You’d scare everybody away,” Sam retorted, trying to fight off a laugh that Dean would not have appreciated. He raised his hand, waving at the blisters that covered his brother’s face. “Look at you.” 

“Would not,” Dean said petulantly, scratching at his arm.

“Don’t scratch,” Sam said automatically. “And, you don’t want to spread that stuff around. You’re contagious, man.”

“But…”

“Grand Rapids can wait,” Sam said firmly, understanding Dean’s commitment to the job, but determined to stand his ground, “or we can call Bobby, see if there’s any other hunters in the area.” 

Dean pushed back the blanket to peer at Sam. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Sam asked. “I’m not going to head for Grand Rapids without you. It’s a two man job, remember?”

“No,” Dean said, shaking his head, “what about you and the pox? You never had ‘em.”

Comprehension dawned. “I’m being careful. Just don’t sneeze or cough in my face, and I’ll be okay.”

Dean took that in. “So not fair,” he repeated, scratching the tip of his nose.

“Stop scratching!” Sam barely resisted the urge to smack Dean’s hand away from his face. “Do you want those spots to get infected?” 

“Can’t. It itches.” Dean’s words were accompanied by a frenzied rubbing of his bare chest. 

“You hungry? “ Sam asked, deciding a change in topic was in order, if for no reason other than to get Dean’s mind off the itching. “It’s been hours since lunch.” He got to his feet. “I didn’t see any fast food places around here, but there was a grocery store a few miles back down the road. How about a sandwich?”

“No.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows at the terse answer. “Well, what about some soup, maybe some crackers to go with it? I bet they’ve got some chicken noodle.”

This time a pained expression accompanied Dean’s response. “Too hard to swallow, man.”

Sam grimaced in sympathy. “Time for some more of those sore throat things.” Helpfully unwrapping a menthol lozenge, he handed it to Dean. “We’ve already got some meds for your fever,” he continued, “so how ‘bout I pick up some of that oatmeal stuff to put in the tub, and maybe some calamine lotion…“

“Make sure it’s not pink,” Dean interrupted with a shudder. 

“…calamine lotion in a manly color,” Sam amended, “some juice, a couple slices of pie…”

Dean perked up slightly. “Pie?” he repeated hoarsely.

Sam nodded. “Pie,” he confirmed with a grin. “I’ll get some sandwiches too, in case you change your mind.”

“Couple ‘a mag’zines,” Dean suggested, his smirk bordering on a leer. 

“I’m not buying any porn, Dean.” 

“Busty Asian Beauties.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Sometimes being around Dean was like dealing with a hormone-driven teenager. “How ‘bout Car and Driver, something like that?” His expression clearly said take it or leave it. 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed reluctantly, pouting in disappointment.

“Okay, I’m gonna head out.” Sam slipped his hoodie on, over his t-shirt. “Why don’t you get some more sleep while I’m gone? It’ll probably take me at least an hour to get there and back.”

“’M not tired.” 

Sam shrugged. It was clear that none of his suggestions were going to please his brother. “So, watch some TV.”

“TV sucks.”

“I’m sure it does, Dean,” Sam agreed, somehow finding an amiable tone – one that just might be worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize after the day he’d had. 

“It does,” Dean insisted, the fact that Sam’s tone seemed a bit too condescending apparently not escaping him. He waved at the small 13 inch television the motel provided. “Can’t find anything to watch.” He searched for the remote, finally retrieving it from under the blanket. “You try it.”

Taking the remote from Dean’s grasp before he could hurl it across the room, or at his brother, Sam turned the television on, and then flipped through the channels. “Uh, we’ve got ESPN … looks like soccer highlights.” When Dean shook his head, he tried again. “The Weather Channel? TV Land? Some old black and white movie that looks really… well, it looks really boring…” 

Dean rolled his eyes. 

“A Lifetime movie about…” Sam watched it for a few seconds. “Anorexia, I think.”

This time Dean groaned, dramatically pulling the covers back over his head. 

“How ‘bout some music,” Sam suggested, taking pity on his brother. He turned the TV off, then fumbled with the clock radio for a few seconds before finding a hard rock station with decent reception. Setting the volume at a barely discernable level, he asked, “How’s that?”

“Can’t hear it,” Dean complained.

“Maybe that’s ‘cause you’ve got a blanket over your head?” Sam suggested, unable to contain his amusement. 

“Ha, ha.” Dean turned over, allowing the blanket to slip from its position, and curled up on his side. 

“If you’re good, I’m going to head out.” Sam picked up the car keys, jingling them in his hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He paused, leveling a stern look at his brother. “I wanna find you in bed when I get back. You hear me, Dean?”

Dean snorted. “Perv.”

“I mean it. If I come back and find you on the floor…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean yawned, scratching his chest. “Haven’t you left yet?”

Shaking his head, Sam took one last look at his brother before heading out the door.

*******

Sam quickly unpacked his shopping basket, checking off each item as he placed it on the conveyor belt at the front of the store. “Aveeno, calamine lotion,“ Sam paused to smile at the bottle of pink liquid that Dean was going to just love, “sandwiches, juice, magazine, deck of Uno cards, chess game – travel size, of course – and… two slices of apple pie.” He nodded, satisfied that he’d found everything on his list.

“That’ll be twenty-seven dollars and fourteen cents, sir,” the cashier said, bagging the items.

Retrieving his wallet from his jeans pocket, Sam removed several bills, accepting the change that the young woman returned. “Thanks,” he said, grinning as she blushed.

Still grinning, and wearing a blush of his own after the clerk – Mandy - had written her phone number on his receipt and slipped it into his back pocket, Sam stored his purchases in the passenger seat of the Impala, climbed in, and started the engine.

Happily singing along to Aerosmith’s Back in the Saddle - not that he’d ever admit that to Dean - he made good time, and was soon pulling into the same parking spot he’d vacated a little over an hour earlier.

*******

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean called as Sam reentered the motel room, keys in one hand, and a brown paper bag clutched to his chest. “Did ya get my pie?” 

“Yep,” Sam responded, dropping his purchases on the end of Dean’s bed. “Apple, fresh out of the oven.”

Dean licked his lips. Pushing himself upright, he glanced up at Sam and froze. “What happened to you?” He leaned forward to take a closer look. “I haven’t seen that many zits since high school.”

Sam blinked. “What?” 

“Your face, man, it looks like…” Dean’s jaw dropped open in realization.

“No way,” Sam groaned, marching into the bathroom like a man on a mission. 

“Sam?” Dean craned his neck in a useless attempt to see around the door frame. “Sammy?” 

There was a loud sigh and a subdued, “Damn,” from the other room before Sam reappeared, a frown on his face. He met Dean’s gaze squarely. “Go ahead, say it.” 

“Say what?” Dean asked innocently.

“It’s chicken pox, okay?” Sam spit out. “Got the damn spots all over my body.” He huffed. “I can’t believe this.”

“What happened to ‘it’s not that big of a deal’?” Dean crowed. 

“Shut up,” Sam said through clenched teeth. “It’s not funny.” 

To Dean’s credit, he managed not to laugh. He simply narrowed his eyes in thought, and then pushed himself into a seated position and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Wavering slightly on his feet, he reached for the bag Sam had brought back from the store. 

“What’re you doing?” Sam asked.

Continuing to rummage through the grocery bag, Dean waited until after he’d found what he wanted to answer. “Gonna go soak in the tub,” he answered, a box of oatmeal packets clutched in one hand, calamine lotion in the other. 

“Don’t use all of it,” Sam said plaintively, scratching his stomach. “I’m gonna need some, too.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean retorted, shutting the bathroom door soundly behind him. 

“Dean!” Sam called over the sound of running water. “I mean it. I’ve got your pie out here and if you don’t…”

The bathroom door opened abruptly, and before a stunned Sam could react, Dean had taken his slice of pie - and a fork - into the bathroom with him.

Sam sighed. He looked around the room a bit forlornly, and then decided to rifle through the grocery bag for his own food. Car and Driver was set aside, as was Dean’s sandwich and the juice. The games he left in the bag untouched. Unearthing his own chicken salad wrap, he took a few bites, only to swallow uncomfortably and set it to the side.

Quickly grabbing a throat lozenge, he sucked on it for a few seconds, savoring the relief it provided, then turned the TV back on. It was clicked back off almost immediately. 

“TV sucks,” he sighed. He shook his head, eyeing his food. Dinner would have to wait. Flopping down on his bed – his feet hanging over the edge uncomfortably - Sam pulled the covers over his head. “It’s so not fair.” 

 

~end~


End file.
